


Straight Razor

by SpaceCadetGlow



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Consensual Violence, Degradation, Homophobic Language, Knifeplay, M/M, Oral Sex, Rape Roleplay, Rough Sex, Verbal Humiliation, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 18:49:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4677428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceCadetGlow/pseuds/SpaceCadetGlow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nelson/HJ in a rape roleplay.  This is consensual sex, but please see the tags for warnings including violence and homophobic language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Straight Razor

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Watchmen kinkmeme, which exists in its current iteration here: http://watchmen-km.dreamwidth.org/287.html. If you enjoy this fic, please leave a comment; feedback makes my day!

“I've been thinking about it for a long time.”

“Is that so?”

“I'm not proud of it, alright? If you're not comfortable with it, just forget it. Forget I said anything.”

“I won't forget.”

“Just drop it, it doesn't matter. I shouldn't even have brought it up.”

“No. I meant you'll forget before I will. You won't be expecting it.”

~*~*~*~*~

The hands that hold him down to the floor are strong as iron; the knee planted on the small of his back barely permits him to breathe, let alone get up. One enormous hand grasps a clump of his hair while the other wraps something around his eyes, and then his head is dropped. His forehead stings at the impact into pebble-strewn concrete. He does not cry for help. 

The air leaves his lungs as a booted foot connects solidly with his ribs and flips him over onto his back. Gasping for air, he is momentarily distracted from the growing heat between his legs. His assailant is not.

“So it's true.” One boot settles on his groin and tests how much weight he can take before crying out. It sounds less like a moan of pain than he had expected, though what it does sound like expresses his feelings accurately. “It's true that Captain Metropolis is a dirty faggot.”

“No!” He chokes as he says it, the firm leather sole still pressing against him, still threatening to make him scream.

“And desperate, by the looks of it. Can't any of your Minutemen pals help you out?”

Oh god, the Minutemen. They're right outside the side door of Headquarters, back in an alley but certainly not hidden from view. Any of them could come back from patrol, any minute. They would see, they would know...

“No, I suppose not. They're all good people. They wouldn't know the first thing about this.”

He focuses all of his energy on not raising his hips. “I'm a good—”

“You're _nothing_.” The word is emphasized with another kick to his side, and before he can catch his breath, he is pulled by his throat up onto his knees. Thick fingers dig into his neck, the hand pressing hard against his windpipe. That's going to bruise badly, he thinks with a thrill. Only when he starts to feel woozy does the hand move away. 

“You're pathetic, you're lower than shit. You know why? I'll tell you. Because right now I could kill you, and all you're thinking is, is he going to let me suck his cock before he puts my lights out for good?”

He shivers. He can practically taste it. He's sure he can smell that musky heat only inches away.

“And that's disgusting. To me, to normal people. Decent, God-fearing people. But lucky for you, the answer's yes.” He hears the clink of a belt buckle, the soft rustle of fabric being moved aside. “I'm warning you. You bite, you die slowly. Understand?” 

He nods and opens his mouth, breathlessly searching for it with wide-parted lips. It finds him instead, the hot length firmly striking his cheek. 

“Filthy bitch. You get it when I give it to you.” His hair is seized once again and his head pulled forward, all but impaling his throat. He is like a suckling child, hungry and greedy; he swallows it all the way down within seconds. Through the pounding of his own heart in his ears and elsewhere, he hears ragged breathing, and then he is yanked away without warning. “That's enough.” 

Footsteps circle him. From behind, he is pushed down onto his hands and knees, and he knows what is coming next. Surely enough, his pants are pulled down around his thighs. What he does not expect is the _snikt_ of a switchblade opening.

Frozen in fear (it's amazing, God, it's perfect), he feels the cool flat of the blade press first against his balls. “Maybe I should divest you of these, seeing as you have no right to call yourself a man, hmm?” The blade moves slowly, carefully, almost fondling one, then the other. And then it goes forward, the edge scraping at his taut cock. “Or maybe I should get rid of this, so you'll never get pleasure from your perversion again.” He whimpers. Once, just once, when he was sixteen, he'd held his father's straight razor against his cock as it swelled to fullness, and whimpered like this. Then he'd cried for an hour, and sworn to himself that when he went to college, everything would be different – but there's no way the assailant could know that.

By the time the blade has dragged all the way back to tease between his buttocks, there are tears in his eyes. “Better yet, what if I help you be more accommodating?” The tip of the blade gently brushes his entrance, and it's all he can do not to flinch, for that could be disastrous. Those big hands spread his buttocks apart. Squeezing his eyes shut, his face wet and his cock throbbing, he waits. When he is invaded not by cold metal but by thick heat, he moans with unadulterated desire.

“Loose as a whore's cunt. I should have known.” Slow, shallow, dry thrusts. “How did you get this way? Not with the Marines, they'd never stand for it. Imagine what they'd say if they knew about you.” Quicker, deeper. He groans and thrusts his hips back. They never knew, never could. It was his darkest secret, hidden deep inside from the sharp eyes of real men. “You like this, don't you? Little slut, you'll just give yourself to anyone. You'll give yourself to anyone because you have no one, isn't that right? Your family wouldn't want you, not the way you are.” He sobs at that, and his assailant takes advantage of it. Faster, harder, skin slapping skin, a steady stream of words. “What a disgrace you must be to your father. He never wanted a sissy boy, he wanted a real son. Not some disgusting little queer, not you. God, you make me sick...”

He knows he can't take much more, mentally and physically. “I'm sorry,” he sobs softly. “Sorry, Daddy, sorry.” He shudders through his orgasm, collapsing down onto his elbows and trembling until he is empty.

~*~*~*~*~

“Please say something. I... I need you now most of all.”

“I've said plenty tonight. Are you hurt at all?”

“Just some scrapes and bruises. Are you alright? Don't just shrug at me, tell me what you're thinking.”

“Some of the things I said. They were very hard to get out. But I said them because you asked me to. And I may have gotten carried away. I hope you know that none of it was true.”

“Thank you, Rolf.”

“Are you crying again?”

“No.”

“I don't have another handkerchief.”

“It's okay. I'm okay. It's just... that was what I most wanted to hear.”

“Come lie with me, and I'll say it as many times as you like. Until you believe it.”


End file.
